Beneath The Hatred
by montlake
Summary: [One-Shot] "There are parts of him Gryffindors like James can never comprehend." Sirius reflects on the life he left behind when he denied his heritage. Centred on the younger Blacks (B,N,A,R). R&R.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. At all. And I'm not trying to either.

Hey. This is just a short piece I wrote the other day when I was bored. It's set after Sirius runs away, could be right after or a few years after. From Sirius' POV. Enjoy.

**_Beneath The Hatred_**

Beneath the hatred, there is love. There is always love for family, whether it be genuine or mandatory, there is always love. In his family they have a bond, woven together with beliefs, values and pride. They are the Blacks, they are pure. _Toujours Pur _he thinks, his stomach clenching at the unfairness of it. He hates them, their pride and their stupid values and morals. He hates that he can't be himself, he hates that he can't be free from them. He hates the house, where every step reminds him of them, every floorboard holds a memory. He will always be a Black, no matter where he goes. And there will always be love, no matter how much he hates.

He thinks about his favourite cousins, the ones who will never see him again as a Black. He envies them, for being so comfortable with their heritage, for being so accepted by the family. He thinks of his brother, the little brother he should have been there for, but instead ran away from. In many ways he hates them, and in almost as many ways, he loves them. They understand him, they understand what being a Black means, they understand the perils of being a Black child, they understand how hard it is for him, even if they'll never admit it. There are parts of him Gryffindors like James can never comprehend.

He thinks of Bella, in all her beauty, she will be a magnificent woman. He thinks of the wasted life that she will lead, always living for power, never for love. And she would be wonderful at loving. He thinks of her jet-black hair, ruby red lips and icy stare. Features he himself shares with her. Together, they could be the perfect Blacks. King and Queen, each with their own castle of terror. Not anymore though, he left that future behind. He thinks of his childhood with her, how close they used to be. "Is Bella coming?" he used to ask whenever there was a gathering of family. A no would be greeted with a tantrum and a long sulk, while a yes caused a display of happiness not appropriate for a Black and he would be sent to his room until she came. Now, she can never be his favourite cousin. He vows never to tell anybody his secret, that he used to love her. She was never a part of him. He hates her.

He thinks of Narcissa, the little princess. He can already see her future lay out before him, like a straight road with the end already in sight. She was always going to marry high, her spirit wasted in a loveless marriage. He thinks of the golden curls that used to surround an innocent, happy face. Now the face is cold. She used to wear pink, now she wears green. She used to dream of castles, with her as the princess and a handsome prince to rescue her. Now she dreams of money, and a handsome heir to trap her deeper in the hell that is her life. He thinks of the sweet little dumpling that used to sit on her mother's knee and smile at him. But she was never a part of him. He hates her.

He thinks of Andromeda. He is, at least, comforted by her choices. She escaped, just like him. He thinks of the letters that she sends him, the letters that keep him in contact with the world he used to know. But Andromeda, no matter who she marries, will still be a Black. He remembers how she used to help him and Bella tease the little cousins that used to visit in the holidays. He remembers how she used to dream of being wicked and confide in him her secrets. He remembers her, Bella and Cissy plotting out their future together as great, dark sorceresses. She may have escaped, but she, like him, is still a Black. She still has at least part of her black heart present, eating away at her soul. And he hates her for it.

He thinks of Regulus. Weak, petty Reggie, constantly trying to impress upon him and the others. His brother. He wishes he could take Regulus away from them all, stop him from being further tainted with the black paint that corrupts everything in Grimmauld Place. He thinks of how they hated each other, the kind of hate one reserves for siblings. He thinks of the times Regulus came to him when he was frightened, rather than his mother. They were both scared of her. He thinks of how Regulus will never survive in the dark world. He would have survived, but not Regulus. Still, his brother chooses to stay, and hates Sirius for leaving. Sirius hates that his parents now love Regulus more than anything in the world except, of course, their power. He hates Regulus for stealing the love that was meant for him. He hates him for being a pushover.

Sirius thinks of himself. He's left all that behind him. Family no longer matters. His friends are his family. Blood can not hold him to them; he's proven that. But there are times when he catches Bella's eye by accident or he reads a sentence in Andie's letters and he can feel the bond between them, feel the love that once was and will never entirely fade away. But then he remembers, he hates them.


End file.
